


Mixed Signals

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [32]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 08:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12077280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “Look,” Roman says, sees Connie tense. “I really like you, Connie.”“We already did this, you don’t have to do it again,” Connie mumbles. “I understood the first time.”





	Mixed Signals

They get told they’re getting the day off right at the start of breakfast, and Roman frowns down at his eggs, a little annoyed he’s lost the chance to sleep in. He doesn’t do it much, at home, now that he has an antsy puppy with a tiny bladder. He remembers it, though. It’s nice.

“Can we talk?” Victor asks, appearing behind him just as he’s decided it’s too late to go back to sleep now and he may as well eat while he’s here.

“Didn’t we just—” Roman starts. He didn’t see Victor coming. Again. It’s disturbing.

“There’ve been new developments,” Victor says.

“Like?” Roman asks. He has a sudden paranoid thought that Victor’s able to read his mind, knows exactly what’s changed after that conversation with Harry. Victor has that effect.

“Can we talk?” Victor repeats.

“Okay,” Roman says reluctantly. Talking’s the last thing he wants to do right now, but he feels like he owes it to him. 

“Come to my room?” Victor asks. “Eleven. Sharp,”

“Connie won’t be there, right?” Roman asks.

“Why would he be there?” Victor asks.

“Fine,” Roman says. “Eleven.”

“Sharp,” Victor says.

“Okay, eleven sharp,” Roman says. “Can I eat my breakfast now?”

“Sure,” Victor says, and gets replaced by Fitzy, who keeps interrupting his own breakfast by grinning at Roman.

“You’re creeping me out,” Roman says, after the first few times, and then, when Fitzy keeps on grinning. “Okay, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Fitzy says, and gives him a fake innocent look for about ten seconds before he’s grinning into his toast again.

Something’s up. Usually Roman would investigate, but. It’s a day off, and frankly he needs one. He just hopes no one sets anything on fire.

*

Days off are nice in theory, and in practice at home, but on the road, with shit the way it is right now, it’s kind of a fucking drag. He has to see Victor at eleven if he can’t avoid it, but other than that it’s a long stretch of day and no real urge to leave his room except for meals; maybe not even for them, if he can handle the monotony of room service food. It’d be boring if he wasn’t dwelling on shit, but since he is, it’s just sad.

Fuck, who let him get so self-pitying?

Victor texts Roman his room number at five minutes to eleven, and Roman sighs and gets up. He was kind of planning on texting Victor the minute of and hoping Victor didn’t see the text or something, but nope. 

He isn’t there at eleven sharp, because he gets distracted by an email from his babička, peppered with Czech he’s slow to parse, more used to hearing it spoken than reading it, but it’s close enough.

“You’re late,” Victor hisses anyway, because of course he does, then ushers him inside.

“Sorry,” Roman says.

“Sorry about this,” Victor says in response, which is weird, and the bag on his shoulder knocks into Roman as Victor quickly walks out of the room.

“Sorry about—” Roman starts, but the door’s banging shut behind him, with the kind of force that means Victor’s slammed it.

He hears the sink going in the bathroom, and frowns, wondering who’s in it for a second, but of course it’s Connie. Victor said he wouldn’t be there, but —

Actually, Victor _didn’t_ say that, did he. Answered Roman’s question with a question, and expected Roman to fill in the blanks. Crafty motherfucker.

“Roman?” he hears, and looks over to see Connie in the doorway of the bathroom, frowning. Roman hates that Connie’s first instinct is to frown when he sees him, but he doesn’t blame him.

“Hey,” Roman says weakly. “Victor said he wanted to talk to me about something, but he just bolted out like his ass was on fire.”

“Oh,” Connie says, and nothing else.

“I’ll head out,” Roman mumbles, and Connie nods, short.

The door handle doesn’t budge.

“Huh,” Roman says. “Connie, c’mere for a sec and try the door for me?”

Connie does, frowning again, deeper, and at least it’s not Roman’s fault this time, instead the door, which he tries a few times before putting his weight into it. Connie’s over two hundred pounds, can bench far more than that, and nothing. Roman’s got some weight and some strength on him, but if it’s not budging for Connie, it’s not budging for Roman without him breaking it, and he has a feeling management would frown on that.

“Did Victor break the door or something?” Connie asks. “I heard him slam it.”

“If he did we’d be able to open it,” Roman says. “Pretty sure it just wouldn’t lock.”

“So—” Connie says.

“You’re staying in there until you work shit out,” Roman hears from the hallway. It’s Fitzy. Of course it’s fucking Fitzy.

“This isn’t funny, Fitzgerald,” Roman calls back.

“It totally is, but that’s not why we’re doing this,” Fitzy says. “Work it out, or you’re stuck in there until tomorrow.”

“Fuck’s sakes,” Roman says, looking over at Connie, who’s looking back at him. “We can call the lobby.”

Connie chews his lip. “Won’t that get them in trouble?” he asks.

“I don’t really care,” Roman says. “There’s a prank and then there’s a fucking fire hazard.”

Connie nods, short, looking away again. Roman pretends not to notice the way he shifts back when Roman walks into the room itself, makes sure Roman doesn’t brush him. The bedside table still has the list of numbers, but the phone itself is missing. 

“Well,” Roman says. “Victor’s thorough.” Victor seemed to forget that cell phones were a thing though.

“My phone’s missing,” Connie says, less than a moment after Roman thinks it. “And my laptop. My charger’s still here, but—”

Roman snorts. Victor’s very thorough. “It’s fine,” he says, “I have—”

His pocket is empty. He checks his other pocket. Thankfully he still has his wallet, but his phone’s gone.

“I’m starting to get a little concerned about Victor,” Roman says.

“He took your phone?” Connie asks. 

“He took my phone,” Roman confirms. Somehow. Roman doesn’t remember making contact with him other than when Victor hit him with the bag. Roman has a feeling Connie’s laptop was in that bag.

“He was watching pick-pocketing videos on Youtube last night,” Connie says fretfully, “but I just thought—”

“That he wasn’t actually going to steal shit?” Roman asks.

“Well,” Connie says. “Maybe for a prank or something.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roman says, and goes back to the door.

“What’re you—” Connie says. 

"If you don't let us out right now I'm going to kick your fucking ass, Fitzgerald," Roman yells through the door.

"I'm more afraid of Fitzgerald than I am of you!" Victor calls back, then, low enough Roman barely hears through the door, “Sorry ma’am, we’re just pranking my buddy. Getting married tomorrow, and we thought it’d get him past some of his nerves.” It comes out completely effortlessly. Roman is frightened by his ability to lie on the spot. 

“When we get out of here, we’re staging an intervention for Victor,” Roman says to Connie, who’s hovering beside what’s presumably his bed.

Connie smiles weakly.

“Guess they want us to talk, huh?” Roman asks. It’s rhetorical, but Connie shrugs minutely anyway, going to look out the window, or, Roman thinks, more importantly put his back to Roman. Those things never open fully even if they weren’t way too high up to jump it. “Or we could just watch TV until they get bored or something, if you’d prefer that.”

“Okay,” Connie says, but it’s a moot point, because the fucking remote is gone.

“Did you notice your roommate slowly becoming a supervillain?” Roman asks, and gets another small smile from Connie in return. A week back he would have giggled. He laughed at Roman’s jokes even when nobody else did.

Roman has _really_ got to break out of this morose shit.

“Maybe we should talk,” Roman says, after they spend ten minutes just sitting there, Roman on the desk chair, Connie on his bed, arms around his knees, looking out the window again. Roman hates it when he makes himself look small.

“It’s okay,” Connie says quietly. “Like you said, they have to get bored eventually, right?”

Honestly, Roman wouldn’t put it past them to hold out until tomorrow morning. He fucking hopes not, though, because he’s pretty sure they’re going to get hungry before that point. Though, knowing Connie, he’s got plenty of protein bars in his bag.

“Look,” Roman says, sees Connie tense. “I really like you, Connie.”

“We already did this, you don’t have to do it again,” Connie mumbles. “I understood the first time.”

“What’d you understand?” Roman asks. “Because if you think I don’t want to be with you—”

“You don’t, though,” Connie interrupts. “Or you wouldn’t have—” He stops, then, goes back to chewing on his lip.

Fuck, it’s not like Roman’s ever really forgotten how much younger Connie is than him, the different levels of experience — romantic, life, whatever — but it’s laid bare right there in Connie’s miserable face.

“Sweetheart,” Roman says.

“Please don’t call me that,” Connie says, quiet enough that Roman almost doesn’t hear it, but not quiet enough that he doesn’t also hear the way his voice catches as he says it.

Fuck.

“Sorry,” Roman says. “Connie, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Connie says, though it clearly isn’t.

“I do want to be with you,” Roman says, and when Connie curls up tighter, “I just — I get so fucking jealous, Con.” Connie asked him to leave before he got this part out, last time, but he thinks maybe he needs to know it, to know it’s not for lack of wanting him or liking him or anything like that. It’s not like either of them can escape this conversation anyway. “I keep thinking about you with Harry, and comparing myself to him, wondering if you laugh more with him, or he makes you feel something I don’t, and it’s driving me crazy.”

Connie doesn’t say anything, but he seems to have uncurled a bit. Roman hopes that’s not just wishful thinking.

“I didn’t want to poison shit with my feelings,” Roman says. “I know it’s — I know it sucks, this whole situation sucks right now, and I know you’re hurting and you’re not the only one, but it would have only gotten worse if I’d let it fester, you know?”

Connie nods a little.

“And now it’s just — more complicated,” Roman says, tries a laugh that comes out as weak as Connie’s smiles have been.

“How so?” Connie asks, and Roman doesn’t want to answer that, shouldn’t have said shit in the first place, but Connie’s looking at him, properly looking at him, for the first time in days. It’s felt like longer than that.

“Pretty sure I’ve got a crush on your boyfriend,” Roman mutters. It’s such a stupid, grade school word, but romantic shit hasn’t had him feeling this dumb and emotional since high school, so it fits better than anything else.

“Oh,” Connie says. “Um.”

“Like I said,” Roman says. “More complicated. I blame Fitzy for always bringing up threesomes.” And Harry too. For existing, mostly, but also because Fitzy’s not the only one who brought up threesomes.

Connie goes pink. “He’s not the only one,” he mumbles. 

“Victor?” Roman asks, instead of pressing whether Harry mentioned it to him too, because he’s not going there.

“Novy,” Connie mumbles.

“Huh,” Roman says. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

“You like Harry,” Connie says, almost a question, almost not, like he’s testing the idea of it.

“I kind of want to throttle his freckled ass most of the time,” Roman says. “So I don’t know if you’d describe it as ‘like’, but you know.”

Connie shakes his head a little, because of course. Connie’s probably never wanted to throttle someone in his life, off the ice at least, and if he has, he certainly wouldn’t also feel the urge to _fuck_ them. “Can you explain?” Connie asks. “I don’t really understand. I mean, having a crush on Harry I understand?” Of course he fucking does. “But. How’s it more — I don’t understand.”

“Like, what's going on in my head, or what?” Roman asks.

“Sure,” Connie asks.

“So basically I spent all my time thinking about him and you, and being a jealous asshole, and now I’m still thinking about that, but it’s — that first bit’s still there, but now it’s more — there’s you and there’s him and I don’t like it but I can’t stop thinking about it at the same time, and some part of me _does_ like it, and —” Roman shuts up. “I told you it was complicated.”

“What if—” Connie says.

“What if?” Roman prompts, when Connie doesn’t continue.

Connie shrugs, barely. “You’re not the only one I want either,” he says, hesitant, like that’s news and not basically the whole reason things are the way they are, that Harry and Connie somehow went from fighting like cats and dogs — if in this case Connie’s a longsuffering puppy enduring a violent cat rampage — to Harry being someone Connie wants, someone he wants to hold onto. “And doesn’t this kind of…change things? Maybe?”

Roman can’t handle the hopeful look on his face.

“Just because Harry kind of snuck up on me,” Roman says, then, “What?”, because Connie’s smiling.

“He’s not really sneaky,” Connie says, with a lot of affection, and Roman’s stomach twists. Which is basically the point, here.

“I still feel like a jealous asshole about it,” Roman says. “And probably will from both sides, now. I don’t really want to be that guy, Connie. And I _really_ don’t want to start resenting you for things that you told me about from the get-go because I can’t handle them.”

“I get it,” Connie says softly.

“Sorry,” Roman says.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Connie says. “Come here?”

Roman probably shouldn’t. It sounds like a bad idea in the making, even that small bit of proximity, for all it sucked to notice the ways Connie was avoiding it. Roman sits on the bed beside him, and Connie uncurls the rest of the way, knee brushing Roman’s as he does so.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you,” Connie says softly.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Sweet—”, Roman starts. “Sorry. Connie.”

“You’re saying sorry almost as much as I do,” Connie says, with this little twist at the edge of his mouth, part humor, part like he’s repeating something that’s been thrown in his direction before.

“Well, I am,” Roman says, and Connie reaches up, squeezes his shoulder, about to drop his hand when Roman loses his fucking mind, turning his head and pressing his lips to the back of Connie’s hand.

 _Mixed fucking signals, Novák_ , Roman chides himself as he pulls back, but the rest of his attention’s on the way Connie’s breathing hitched, can’t focus on anything else.

There are even more mixed fucking signals when Roman kisses him, can’t help himself. More mixed signals, but not from Connie, who curls his hands in Roman’s collar and kisses him right back.

 _We really need to stop and talk about this_ , Roman thinks, but he gets interrupted by one of Connie’s hands coming up to curl around the back of his neck, by Connie’s tongue tracing the seam of his lips, a little tentative but not shy, and he doesn’t think about much of anything else right until the door creaks open and those fuckers deposit Harry in their proverbial laps.


End file.
